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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27337873">Washed Out Markers</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImberArdeo/pseuds/Imber'>Imber (ImberArdeo)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Cartoon 2018), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>And thus begins the remarkable tale of Donnie’s eyebrows, Family Fluff, Gen, Which is sure to be a perilous and brow raising adventure, and yes. He does in fact use sharpie, or something close to it</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 00:06:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>483</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27337873</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImberArdeo/pseuds/Imber</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Splinter may be old and no longer the person that he once was, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have anything left to give to his sons.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Donatello &amp; Splinter (TMNT)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>69</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Washed Out Markers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thanks so much to @goldenspecter for reading through this really quick and causing me to write it in the first place.</p><p>I just wanted to try writing something short and sweet so here we are.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Hey, Papa? Do you think I look like Lou Jitsu?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had been watching <em>Scorpion Against the World III: A Spy’s Dagger</em>. The scorpion brought its pincer down right as Splinter clicked the pause button, making it freeze in time. He leaned down to look at Donatello from his chair. The turtle tot held a black marker in his small hand, looking up at him hopefully.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And on his face… were two big, black eyebrows where there should be none. They were scribbled on with the markings of a child’s unsteady hand, but Splinter could see the intent and love put behind them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh… my son.” Splinter slid off of his chair. Donatello was getting tall—by now his son must nearly be up to his nose. Splinter wondered just how large his boys would get by the time they stopped growing. As tall as he once was, perhaps…?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I… tried my best to look like him... but I’m not sure how much it worked. I don’t think I did it right.” Donatello looked down, grabbing the marker and twisting it between his two hands. “Do you… um, could I get asses- assesti- assistance?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He fumbled over his last word as if trying to remember how to pronounce it. It made Splinter smile to see Purple growing his vocabulary. It felt like just yesterday that he had been teaching him to read. He crouched down to meet his son’s eyes. “I would be happy to help you, Donatello.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Purple gleamed. His smile was much brighter than any of the trophies Splinter had collected or awards he had been given in his lifetime. It shone like a garden statue on a sunny day—or the dance floor on which he had gotten to know the sixth to last love of his life on. His choices in life may have not been the best… but if it led him to this moment, and raising his sons, he couldn’t say he regretted them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A hand tugged on his arm twice in succession. Donnie looked at him, worried. “Dad, you’re crying. Why are you crying?” he asked. “Are you sad? Did I make you hurt? Can I fix it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Splinter blinked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sniffed, shaking his head. No, of course his boy hadn’t done anything wrong. He reached for his son’s hand and squeezed it in comfort. “No, Purple, you did not make me hurt. Sometimes… when you’re very happy, you cry. It’s not bad and is not something to be fixed. I’m just happy to see you, is all.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His son hesitated, unsure if to accept that as an answer, but eventually nodded. “...Okay.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Splinter reached for the marker and gently took it from Donatello’s shaky and small hands, uncapping the lid as he did so.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> “Here, let me help.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He may have washed out years ago, but he still had plenty of ink left to give.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
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